Harry Potter: Homecoming
by f20170110
Summary: AU: WHERE VOLDEMORT HAS THE SORCEROR'S STONE. Explores Alchemy and souls. Harry has lived most of his life starved of proper conversation. All he has known is taunting, scolding and punishments. So unsurprisingly, he is an introvert who avoids all confrontations. But, unbeknownst to him, there's a completely magical world out there; one where he might just find a place to belong...
1. Prologue: Inside Harry's Head

Harry was back in his cupboard. He was fortunate that the Dursleys believed it to be a form of punishment for whatever mistake they considered him to have made, and he was extra careful to not let it be known that he rather liked it inside. He slowly folded his scrawny hands to hold his thin, skinny legs together, and laid his head over his bony knees. He had spent so much of his life sitting and thinking in the dark of his cupboard that the place had become his sanctuary from all that was wrong. For inside his cupboard, he was safe.

Harry had rather liked it at the zoo, he thought. It wasn't often he got to visit places other than school, Aunt Marge's, Mrs Figg's, or if he was especially fortunate, Mrs Yvonne's. That was the extent of the world seen by the lonely boy. Not that he hadn't heard stories of all the Amusement parks, Hamburger joints and Ice cream shops from Dudley, but he knew it was wrong for him to want to visit them too. How could it not be, if something strange always ended up happening around him? Take the zoo for example. He was pretty sure it was impossible to be able to talk to snakes, and he still didn't understand how his wishing for the Boa constrictor to be free had made the viewing glass vanish. It was almost like magic. But that surely wasn't possible… was it?

Harry conjectured he wouldn't be let out of the cupboard for a long, long time. He was rather glad to be able to skip school due to his punishment. He didn't mind school per se, but with how much he had to skip it due to his punishments, much of what was taught in the classes rarely made sense to him. It wasn't like he could really study in the darkness of his cupboard. He barely managed to scrape passing marks, which, coupled with suitable encouragements from Dudley and his gang, made sure no one wanted anything to do with him. His teachers did not like him much either, as he attended so few of his classes, was a loner and often found himself in trouble, which almost always involved Dudley. It didn't help that the Dursleys had managed to convince the whole school staff that Harry was always in the wrong somehow. He reckoned it was due to his grades.

Harry waited for his eyes to slowly get accustomed to the dark. He imagined that this darkness was his shield; a cloak to hide him from all the confrontations which waited for him outside. It helped him relax… as much as he was used to anyway.

Harry preferred to have a quiet life. Going back as much as he could remember, all the conversation he had with the Dursleys involved shouting. He couldn't really make them speak softer, so he preferred to avoid situations where he would be forced to talk. He never knew what he might end up getting into if he said anything now, did he? Inside his cupboard, no one disturbed him. He didn't even have to hear Dudley, since without Harry to pester, his cousin spent most of his time either upstairs or outside the house. The only sounds which filtered his cupboard were dimmed. He supposed he could live with that, though he preferred the absolute silence of the nights. This was Harry's favourite pastime: simply shielding himself from all the bright images and the loud noises, and thinking.

Harry thought back to the zoo. The Boa Constrictor which had escaped was from Brazil. Harry wondered how the snake might be doing. He was sure Brazil was far. Perhaps too far for a snake to travel, though he wasn't really sure. Where would it have gone? Would it be caught and put back in the zoo? Harry wondered if somehow he could, like the snake before him, escape. But however far Brazil might be, at least the snake had somewhere to go. Where would Harry go? Maybe even though Harry had been raised here in Privet drive, there was somewhere he, too, belonged; probably somewhere away from the Dursleys. Somewhere quiet and dark, where his eyes didn't ache from too much light, and where he wasn't subjected to all the noise. Or perhaps where his real parents used to live? Maybe they would show him all the places he had heard of in Dudley's tales and perhaps even those from his English professor's stories. If his eyes could stand it, that is.

Harry was almost certain he needed new glasses, but who was he to ask anything of the Dursleys? His current ones had been too tight for years when he had finally complained, and uncle Vernon had simply broken them from the middle to fix them. Decent application of tape wouldn't make up for the fact that he could no longer see clearly with the existing spectacles however. He still remembered how much he had been scolded by his aunt and uncle when they had been called three years ago by the school nurse and instructed to buy Harry his glasses. If he had magic, he would fix his eyes so that he could see the whole world, which he imagined was wonderful, without his eyes complaining and demanding for the dark. He wasn't sure if he wanted this though… The dark was his only friend, wasn't it?

Hopefully, this was one thing he could change. For once, he was going to go to a school where there was no Dudley, even if it was only the local secondary school, Stonewall High. It was lucky that his uncle refused to spend as much on him as they did on his cousin he surmised. Maybe without a Dursley nearby, he could stay out of trouble long enough that maybe, just maybe, someone would want to talk to him (without scolding)? He didn't have very high hopes however; he was sure no one would want anything to do with him. But in here, at least, he could dream without being punished.

Even when Harry was ultimately allowed out of his cupboard, which was after the beginning of summer vacations, he spent most of his time inside. The only times he was out was when he was supposed to do chores, eat meals, or when Dudley and his gang showed up. In the latter case he made a point to spend a lot of time away from number four, Privet Drive. It was pure survival instinct really. Harry did NOT prefer being found by the Harry Hunters. The only thing he hated more was the beating which followed being found.

It was one such morning. Harry had been awoken by a foul stench coming from the kitchen. Not trusting himself to get away with asking anything about it, he simply went on with his business. He couldn't avoid wondering when he saw its source as he went for breakfast in the kitchen, however.

A large metal tub in the sink contained what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water. Maybe aunt was… no, he couldn't justify this with anything. He asked his aunt, "What are these for?"

Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she snapped.

Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said. He did not understand the half of it. Why would his new school uniform need to be soaked in what looked like dirty water? Harry guessed he would get to know the reason sometime so no point asking.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

Harry knew better than to argue, and went to receive the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Marge, a brown envelope… a bill, perhaps, and a letter addressed unmistakably to him?!

This had to be a sick joke, Harry thought. He never received letters. Who would write to him? BUT there it was, clearly written,

Mr. H. Potter

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope wasn't like anything he had seen before. It was thick and heavy, made in yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry almost groaned. He had missed the chance to read his letter. After all, if there was one thing he was completely sure of, the Dursleys would surely punish him for some reason or another if they saw him with a letter. It was too dark in his cupboard to read… Oh well, he'd rather keep his first ever letter, even if it did turn out to be a sick joke, safe.

Harry surreptitiously tucked his letter under his shirt before heading back to the kitchen. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, and sat down as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Finally, the opportunity to read his letter did come later that day. Harry had, as always, slipped out of the house around the time his big, fat cousin would arrive with his gang of minions. Settling down on a swing in the local park, he finally removed the meticulously done seal and began reading.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry reckoned there was plenty wrong with this letter. For starters, he could clearly hear his Aunt screeching inside his mind, "There is no such thing as magic!" So how would she react to even a mention of a proper school for Wizards, Harry didn't want to know. Moreover, what did this McGonagall mean by 'we await your owl?' What did they expect him to? Somehow convince Uncle Vernon to buy him an owl; if one could even be bought at a pet shop… and then mail it to this Hogwarts School, wherever it was? Why wasn't there any stamp on the envelope?

But magic would explain so many things which he didn't understand about him. How, for example, did he understand the snake at the zoo? How did Mrs. Peterson's wig turn blue when she refused to believe him? Or how did he end up on the school building's roof while running away from Dudley and his friends? Why did his hair grow so fast… Harry decided then and there that magic had to be real. So that would make him a magician he reckoned.

It probably also meant that he belonged with other magicians rather than with the Dursleys. _No big surprise there._ It was already known to him, given how differently he and Dudley were treated, that he belonged elsewhere. Now the only thing that remained was how to find others like him.

After much consideration, Harry decided he had to show the letter to his guardians. It wasn't like he could do anything alone, and the worst the Dursleys would do to him was lock him back in the cupboard. Which would, Harry thought, surely be an upgrade from having to be in their plain view. But even if it was logical, Harry did not want to risk his first ever letter being taken away from him, or maybe even torn. So he simply stored the letter inside his cupboard and tried his best to forget all about it.

The subsequent days passed as usual: Harry woke up to aunt Petunia's shrill voice, prepared breakfast, ate, cleaned the house, receded inside his cupboard, came back out, prepared lunch… In all of this, he almost forgot all about the letter. Almost being the keyword.

When Harry wasn't attending to his share of chores, he took to counting down days till July 31, and not only for the fact that he was going to turn eleven that day. He often wondered if someone from the Hogwarts place will react to not receiving his owl. As more and more days passed without incident, Harry convinced himself that the letter was nothing more than a cruel attempt to lift his hopes before squashing them. There was no way he could have responded to it, no way he could courier an owl as he didn't know where to send it. So he managed to stop overthinking and started awaiting the end of summer holidays and his first day in the new school.

31st July came and went as every other day did. Harry wasn't surprised no one remembered his birthday, as there was nothing new about it. The fact that it was last day to respond to the letter was acknowledged with merely a fleeting thought. Even if magic was real, it probably wasn't going to be a part of Harry's quiet life, bar the few unfortunate mishaps which would continue landing him in trouble. At least now he had a justification for all those occurrences.


	2. A New World Beckons

When Harry went for his breakfast the next day, he heard his name being mentioned in a conversation between his Aunt and Uncle. More out of wanting to gauge the mood of his guardians so that he could avoid any confrontations than out of any curiosity, he stopped just behind the door and strained to listen.

"... Believe me Vernon, any letter from that place for Harry would have arrived by now!" Aunt Petunia seemed to be whispering furiously.

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. Even if things have changed from Lily's time, any normal school expects to hear a response from new students at least a month ahead of the start of its session! I think that freak school is no longer interested in Harry."

Harry could almost hear a sigh of relief from his aunt as she explained her point of view to Uncle. If only she knew the half of it. Harry had figured out what letter she could be talking about, after all. Still mulling over the discovery that Aunt knew much more about that Hogwarts letter than him, Harry almost missed what Vernon said next.

"...still a freak! I say, or have you forgotten the snake the ruddy brat set on our Dudley, on his birthday no less?! I say if that hocus-pocus school is no longer interested in him, we kick that ungrateful twerp out! I don't want a freak like him anymore in this house!"

"Be reasonable Vernon. How often has he done magic recently? Lily used to do it all the time when her letter came. I think he is already normal enough for the freaks to not want him. I'll squash the last bits of freakiness out of him within an year I say."

"Still a freak," grumbled Vernon.

"He's my only link to my dead sister!" Countered Petunia. As Harry's eyes widened over the increasingly abnormal conversation he was hearing, she continued, "I won't let you or anyone turn him away. Especially as he seems to be growing out of his freakiness…"

"MOMMY! HARRY IS EAVE- LISTENING ON THE DOOR!" Harry heard Dudley shout from behind. _Oh crap! How could I be so foolish!_ Harry bemoaned dropping his guards as the conversation inside stilled. As he turned to catch a glimpse of his cousin's grinning face, he was abruptly pulled inside by an irate uncle Vernon.

"HOW MUCH DID YOU HEAR?!" He shouted.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. On one hand, his aunt's newfound support would surely be whisked away if he told the truth about the letter. On another, this was a chance for him to finally figure out what was going on here.

"Answer me, boy!"

Harry decided to keep the letter a secret. After all, he spent much less time around his Uncle than with his Aunt. If his aunt were to stop shouting at him at every opportunity, his life here would become much more comfortable.

However, the opportunity to say anything was taken out of his hands by a knock on the door.

"Dudley, open the door," said Uncle Vernon.

"Make Harry do it."

Uncle put Harry down rather forcefully. "Go get the door. And we'll be having a word later."

Sighing, Harry swiftly rushed to get the door, only to come face to face with a rather tall woman wearing emerald cloak and a matching pointed hat. Her wrinkled face softened upon seeing him, a gesture which was caught by Harry. It immediately catapulted her into the list of people he was sure were on his side, which only included Mrs. Figg, Mrs. Yvonne, and one of his primary school teachers. He decided he would cooperate with the woman henceforth, unless it came to blows that is.

"Good morning Mr. Potter. I am Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May I come in?"

"Who's there?" asked uncle Vernon.

"Uh… sure." Harry nervously beckoned the oddly dressed lady inside the living room. He still had half a mind to turn her back, but the care in her eyes when she looked at him had convinced Harry that whatever she had to say might be worth it. They came face to face with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who had themselves come inside the living room.

"YOU!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, earning herself a questioning look from Uncle which she ignored.

"Yes it's me Mrs. Dursley," McGonagall replied, only a hint of bemusement showing up on her face. "Now I would like to know why this young man here," she said, gesturing to Harry, "did not reply to his letter?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aunt Petunia replied briskly.

"Um… I-I got the letter from Hogwarts a month ago." Harry hesitantly addressed his aunt, eliciting a sharp gasp.

"Now wait just a moment," said Uncle Vernon, his moustache bristling, "Who IS she, Petunia?"

"She was the one who came to give the letter to Lily!" She replied, before turning to Harry. "When did you receive that wretched letter? And why didn't you tell me before?"

"It's no problem Aunt," explained Harry, "There was no stamp on the letter so I thought it was just a joke for quite a while." Carefully studying her aunt's expression, he added, "I also wasn't sure how and where to send an Owl. I know owls aren't sold in the market." Twiddling his fingers, he softly added, "It won't matter anymore, the letter had to be answered by yesterday."

"I take it you have, unlike what headmaster Dumbledore asked you to, not told Harry anything… am I right Mrs. Dursley?" Mcgonagall inquired in a tight voice. You see Mr. Potter…"

"STOP!" Yelled Uncle Vernon suddenly, "I forbid you to tell him anything!"

As an irate… witch? Seemed to prepare herself to tear down into the Dursleys, Harry thought quickly before softly distracting the lady, "Excuse me miss?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall turned to him, visibly composing herself.

"Um… if I went to Hogwarts, how much time would I spend there? And for how long daily will I return here...?"

Caught off guard by the rather odd question for someone who, she believed, was unaware how the magical world worked, replied, "You see, Hogwarts is a boarding school. So, you only return in the summers, or, if you so wished, for Easter or Christmas. And why, prey tell, would that be the first question you ask?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, shrugged, took a deep breath, then turned to face his guardians. "I figured out that I must be a wizard," he said, ignoring gasps from the Dursleys, "when I got the letter. It explains a lot of things that have happened around me, doesn't it? I surely don't belong with decent people like you,, right? Were I to go, I would be out of your hair for at least nine months… and I promise I'd stay perfectly normal for the ones I spend at home."

When he put it that way, he was sure even Uncle Vernon would see that his going off to this Hogwarts school, wherever it was, would take the much hated nephew of his away from his sight for better part of an year.

"Alright," Vernon grunted, "but I'm not paying a single penny only so you can learn some stupid mumbo-jumbo…"

McGonagall allayed his worries, however. "You don't have to worry about that. Lily and James already paid for his stay at Hogwarts when he was registered at his birth." She whispered to Harry, "well done young man."

Harry gave her a tight-lipped smile before pressing home his advantage, "So that's settled then Uncle. Since I don't really belong with normal folk like you, maybe I'd find somewhere I belong out there. Once I do, I promise you won't have to put up with me anymore."

Harry cast a sidelong glance to McGonagall, who seemed slightly nauseated, perhaps from seeing how much the notion of getting rid of Harry pleased Vernon. "I think," she slowly said, "I better take this young man out with me to make him familiar with his own world, and to take him out of your hair, as he said."

Once outside, Harry wondered how had he managed to convince the Dursleys, especially his uncle, so easily. It surely reaffirmed the fact that soft words and a bit of buttering were ironclad ways to make his short-tempered but simple-minded bigot of an uncle see reason. Make him feel superior, and he'll agree to most things. Harry felt rather proud of himself for having mastered the technique of saving his hide from the Dursleys…

"Hold on to my arm Mr. Potter."

"Oh? Erm, okay." As Harry complied, McGonagall twisted and he felt a sharp tug, as if he was being pulled inside a thin tube through his navel. Before he knew it, the scenery around him changed to what looked like a small, dingy place with a few round tables surrounded with wooden chairs, and a bar off to a side, tended by a bald bartender. A soft buzz of conversation pervaded the air. The place was too dark and shabby to be one of those Hamburger joints Dudley bragged about… "What is this place exactly?"

McGonagall replied, "It's the Leaky Cauldron, the oldest pub of England. I'm surprised you did not ask about how we came here though…?"

Harry merely shrugged. "It was almost like that one time when I ended up on the roof while being chased…" he explained nonchalantly. "I guess I'm not really surprised by magic. There was a reason my Aunt and Uncle treated me differently I think."

McGonagall seemed to think for a bit, before leading Harry to a small table cramped right in a corner of the pub. As Harry sat down, she went and ordered breakfast for the both of them.

Harry closed his eyes and took a whiff of the sweet-smelling air. He was already liking this place with its cozy, shadowed decor and the nice, soft hum of voices. He thought about how Mrs. McGonagall had gotten angry at the Dursleys for hiding something from him, and how he had managed to diffuse the situation. Not that he minded things being hidden from him, he was used to it, but it had sure felt nice having someone stand up for him. He, once again, felt he could trust this person.

"Open your eyes, Harry," McGonagall asked. Harry complied to see his end of the table occupied by a loaded plate. "I admit I'm surprised by you taking everything so calmly. I remember how excited your Mother had been when she first discovered magic. Anyways, I'd like to introduce you to our world. Your world. By all means, Petunia must have told you at least something, but I can see you really don't know anything about wizards. I usually explain these things in front of the parents, but your guardians were glad enough to see your back."

Harry thought about it for a moment, before softly chuckling, "I used to be like that, erm Miss...?"

"Professor."

"Professor, when I was a kid I guess. But there's no point getting all worked up isn't it? Even if magic is real, it only means that I am different from the Dursleys. I have already known that somewhere inside. Um… will magic be able to heal my eyes?"

"We can stop by at St. Mungo's perhaps. The magical hospital." Professor frowned thoughtfully, as Harry slowly nibbled his sausages. "You are a bit too thin. Even your father wasn't so scrawny when he first came to Hogwarts. I think we should get a full health check-up done for you."

"Um, I- er… don't really eat too much. I used to when I was young, but I often get punished, you know? I sometimes wasn't allowed food for days. I guess my body adjusted. I don't need even a quarter of the food Dudley eats." Harry gently pushed his half-eaten breakfast away.

Professor seemed to be frowning for some reason. Thinking he had offended her, Harry quickly pulled his plate back to him and started trying to stomach more of the porridge. "No son, you don't need to eat all of it, It's okay. Though it does seem like your diet is much less compared to what should be healthy… perhaps your magic has helped your body adjust to it. I had told Albus… never mind. Now listen carefully Mr. Potter- There are some people like you and me, who have a special gift. We are basically connected to an additional source of energy, which is simply called magic. It is connected to and controlled by our minds, so the only thing which matters is one's will power and the capacity to draw upon magic. Magic is often used to condition our bodies, which is why wizards live much longer than muggles, non-magicals that is. We can also survive falls from great heights and do not suffer muggle diseases like flu. Is it clear?"

Harry processed the new information. "Yeah, now I get it why I never fall ill, even if I've not got any vaccines like Dudley."

"Quite right you are. Magical kids like you are not able to control your desires and sometimes draw upon magic to help you accomplish them. More often than not, nothing happens, but sometimes, certain normally unexplained events occur. Can you recall any from your childhood, Mr Potter?"

As Harry related his experiences with accidental magic, he ended up analyzing those situations. It certainly became clear to him that if he wanted something very fiercely, it often ended up happening. "I understand, professor."

"Good. At Hogwarts, you will learn to channel your magic in a controlled way, and to summon its effects at will, not just in emergencies. But by entering magical society, you will be subjected to laws of the Ministry of Magic. You will learn more as you enter the world, but one thing which everyone needs to know is about the Statute of Secrecy. The gist: You cannot perform magic in front of muggles…"

And so the conversation went, till professor McGonagall felt like she had explained everything she needed to. After perhaps an hour or two, she gestured for Harry to stand and follow her.

The two magicians walked to a wall at the other end of the pub. As Harry wondered what new trick was about to be shown, Professor McGonagall tapped the wall with a wooden stick (her wand?) in a pattern which Harry did his best to follow. Suddenly, the wall folded upon itself to reveal an arched gateway, framing a cobblestoned street lined up with various quaint-looking shops. McGonagall entered and asked Harry to follow. As soon as Harry had stepped inside, the wall reappeared. Harry was impressed.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley Mr. Potter."


	3. First Impressions of a Magical World

Harry looked around him in wonder. The single street was lined up with old but colorful buildings on either side. He could read a lot of shop names, which were from a completely new language as far as he was concerned. The morning sun shined just off the spires of the only shop whose name made sense to him- the Second Hand Bookshop, such that the whole cobblestoned street was basked in long shadows from the buildings.

Harry had never visited a shopping district ever before, so he had no way of knowing that the early morning shoppers that often spared curious glances to Professor McGonagall were by no means close in number to those he would have encountered later in the evening. Still, the alley was amongst the liveliest places Harry had ever seen. Indeed, only his school and the Zoo had held more people.

McGonagall set a brisk pace straight ahead, and Harry scurried to keep up, while taking in all the shops on either side. Ultimately they reached a wide square, with the straight path ending in front of a towering white building, whose facade seemed to be made entirely in carved marble. Harry traced his hands on the walls. The carvings seemed to tell a story; or multiple ones, thought Harry. Most figures, however, looked anything but human: they had long, pointed fingers and feet, sharp noses, small ears, bald, flat scalps and seemingly short heights. They seemed to be brandishing swords, crafting cups, approaching much larger winged creatures…

"These," Professor noted from behind, "are goblins Mr. Potter. They are master craftsmen and the caretakers of wizarding resources. This is Gringotts- the only bank in Wizarding Britain. We are here to withdraw money for your requirements."

Goblins… Harry had surely never heard of them before. He looked around as the small party ascended the marble steps to the humongous hall. Indeed, there they were, on several tables right ahead, at the end of queues of Humans. They were all wearing black coats over striped shirts and pants, and some of them were fiddling with various metallic devices. A fair amount of clinks could be heard. Harry wondered why a different specie of creatures handled money for wizards? He recalled Professor had said something about his parents having paid his fees already. At that time he had merely filed the information for later, but this bank visit seemed to indicate that he had some money left through them. The world was becoming more and more magical by the minute for him though, that was for sure.

Professor approached an unoccupied Goblin to the right side.

"Business," drawled the goblin in a cracked, raspy baritone.

"Withdrawal from the Potter vault," responded McGonagall curtly, while pulling out a bronze key from her cloak's inside pockets. Harry had never been to a bank before, but he had heard a lot about lockers from his Uncle, and reckoned the key would be keyed to one of those. He was slightly excited to think that there might be something left by his late parents for him and him only; something on which the Dursleys have no claim. Idly he wondered how magical locks might look.

The goblin barked something in a strange language, and another one approached. The key was exchanged and Professor began following the new Goblin to a door behind the desk, which, Harry noted, hadn't been there before.

The insides were, in sharp contrast to the exteriors, dark and slightly chilly. More importantly, Harry could notice a network of rails leading downwards, and what looked like a small cart right in front of them. The goblin entered the cart and the Humans followed. As soon as they were settled, the cart jerked forwards with a terrific speed.

This was nowhere near what Harry had expected his first Bank visit to be like. If anything, this seemed like those exciting Roller-coasters from Dudley's ninth birthday. Surprising even himself, Harry let out a whoop of joy. Noticing the goblin glaring, he subdued immediately. Professor McGonagall had firmly grasped the rails, but she, unlike what Harry had seen till now, sported a slight smile. Harry himself couldn't keep a grin off his face, having discovered the joys of wind rushing past at such speeds for the first time. Even if as they descended, the air around them kept getting colder.

Finally, they disembarked close to what looked like a sturdy bronze door as tall as Harry. As the Goblin went ahead to place the key flat against the door, McGonagall said, "I haven't forbidden you to ask questions Mr. Potter." Harry smiled sheepishly. It was like him to simply keep observing and ruminating without asking all the things he wondered about. It was a habit deeply ingrained in him by the Dursleys: He minded his business and was told what he needed to know. But if Professor allowed him to ask anything…

"Do you enjoy driving, Professor?"

McGonagall's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You noticed. In the wizarding world, the closest thing to driving is flying on broomsticks. And yes, I did. Flying, that is."

"Okay."

McGonagall sighed and added, "I used to be a part of the Gryffindor quidditch team till my seventh year..."

"Erm, Quidditch, Professor?" Harry took the bait, figuring that McGonagall wanted him to ask that question, strangely enough. He wondered why she used past tense, but thought that he could not imagine the stoic lady playing a sport anyway. With what seemed like eagerness by her standards, McGonagall launched into an explanation of a sport that, apparently, his father was very good at.

He noted that although she seemed to be a formal and professional person, she was making an effort to converse with him. So he politely listened as she explained about 'Quidditch' while withdrawing some coins (coins?) from a pile of Gold, Silver and Bronze ones. Harry wondered if his parents were poor. Sure, that was a lot of coins, but in the end, coins were lower in value...

Harry asked, "Is this all my parents had?"

That seemed to pull the Professor out of her reminiscences. "You think this is insufficient, Mr. Potter?" She asked, somewhat shocked. Harry waved a hand dismissively, saying "even if they are more coins than I've ever seen in a place, but they are still only coins…"

"A common misconception. You see, in the wizarding world, these coins," she made a sweeping gesture, "are the only currency. Twenty-nine knuts; the copper ones; make a silver sickle, seventeen of which is a gold galleon. Believe me, this," McGonagall gestured towards the bag in her hand, "is sufficient for your first year supplies." Clearing her throat, she added, "and this is only the trust vault your parents granted control of to Hogwarts for overseeing your education. The rest is in your family Vault, which is much deeper inside."

Harry felt the hierarchy of currency was unnecessarily complicated. Why didn't the wizards stick to an easy number? He could already see his maths lessons at Hogwarts being a nightmare. But he kept his misgivings to himself, lest he annoy the Professor. He had already asked too many questions, though he still felt awfully ignorant. That was always the way with Harry: He never asked the obvious questions and preferred to wait for them to answer themselves. It was worth it if he got to know something about his father, a common wizarding sport, and about the presence of his family vault while having spoken very little. Harry silently followed as the Professor and the goblin went back to the cart.

Another fun cart ride later, Harry and the Professor were finally ready to tackle the task of purchasing school supplies. Harry decided it would be best to let professor McGonagall do all of it and keep his ears open to anything he could learn from stray conversations. Professor McGonagall withdrew a piece of parchment from his envelope; one he had failed to notice earlier due to surprise at the contents of the accepted letter; and took a deep breath. "Hold on to this for reference, Mr. Potter. We've got a long day ahead. Remind me if I miss anything from the list."

Harry spared a glance to the list, and wasn't really surprised by anything in it. The oddest thing mentioned was a cauldron anyway. Harry would know its use soon enough he guessed. "Yes, Professor."

Harry noticed a small crowd of kids in front of a display at the Broomstix, and found the object of their attention to be a sleek broom with a long and glossy wooden handle. Certainly not for cleaning, he thought. Right next to it was a shop called Flourish and Blotts. It wasn't in the name, but the presence of so many bookshelves inside its amber interiors meant that the cramped place must be a bookshop. Indeed, professor McGonagall approached the clerk and before she said anything, he levitated?! a neat stack of books to the table. "One set of first year books. Professor. Though isn't it a bit late for buying supplies?"

McGonagall nodded. "Thank you Mr. Ainsworth. This young man here," she said drawing attention to Harry, "was unable to respond to the letter in time."

"Good morning young man…" the clerk trailed off, having noticed something above him. He turned around to check but could only see some people walking past the Apothecary. He heard the clerk inquire McGonagall a touch breathlessly, "he's Harry Potter isn't he?"

McGonagall looked at the clerk pointedly. "Thank you for your discretion, Mr. Ainsworth."

Getting her drift, the clerk nodded, never taking his eyes off Harry's forehead. Getting slightly nervous, Harry ignored the man as the Professor paid him. Letting his eyes wander off, he noticed many intriguing titles. There were newspapers titled 'Daily Prophet' magazines titled 'Witch Weekly' and 'The Quibbler', colorful covers with 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' over them, one with a similar crest to what had been on his letter- 'Hogwarts, A History'… He heard Professor's voice say, "These are some of the more popular books among wizards. I feel you should get into the habit of reading the Prophet regularly… If it is okay with you, may I get you a subscription?"

Harry had never read a newspaper. The only encounters he had with them were on the dining table at breakfast, where Uncle Vernon preferred to hide his pudgy face behind one. "Yes, thanks." It seemed a good way to find out more about the world his parents had come from.

"All right then. Inside, you would find books about all your Hogwarts subjects as well as on most other things you wish to know about the wizarding world. I would advise you to take a look. But first," she waved her wand over his forehead. "There. I've hidden your scar."

Harry gave her a questioning look. McGonagall sighed.

"You, or rather your scar, is very famous in the wizarding world. It would take a lot of time explaining why, but I think you should read one of these titles," she beckoned him inside the shop and pointed to a shelf with 'Rise and Fall of Dark Wizards', 'Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century' and other books on what seemed like modern history, "before you come to Hogwarts."

Harry knew it was important to know more about the world he was stepping foot into, but there was a slight problem. "Um… I won't be able to read anything at home."

"And why do you think so, Mr. Potter?"

"There is not enough light in my, er, room," Harry replied, slightly apprehensive. Indeed, the professor seemed disappointed.

"I expected better than this from you Mr. Potter. This is no excuse for not reading up. I take it you go to school. Don't you study your subjects?"

Harry realised there was no way out of it. Not wanting to make a repeat of events of his primary school, he sighed and said, "I'm telling the truth, Professor. There are no lights in my cupboard."

The ensuing silence stretched uncomfortably. Harry, having a sense of deja-vu, hoped against hope that she would believe him. "They make you live… in a CUPBOARD, MR. POTTER?" McGonagall snarled. Feeling scared, Harry simply stared at his feet, waiting for the scolding to begin. Though oddly enough, it seemed that the Professor was angry at the Dursleys and not him. "I WILL be havin a word with your Aunt. How dare she!" she bristled. Taking what seemed to be a calming breath, McGonagall picked a few books from some shelves and added them to his pile.

"You… believe me?" He asked, hoping his face did not show the dread he actually felt. McGonagall, who had started pacing, confided, "I wouldn't have, but I saw what they were capable of ten years back. I told Albus it was NOT a good idea…" She glanced at a confused Harry, having aged quite a bit in a few moments. "For what it's worth, I apologise for playing a part in you having to live with them. Ten years ago when your parents were killed, I, along with Albus Dumbledore: the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Rubeus Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, left you there. I had spied on them for a whole day and had warned Albus not to leave you there… but I got convinced, somehow."

"Um… may I ask something Professor?"

McGonagall took a calming breath. "You may Mr. Potter."

"My parents were…" Harry tasted the word on his lips, "killed?" Upon being looked at sharply, he clarified, "sorry but Aunt said my father was driving drunk and they both died in a car crash."

Harry could tell McGonagall was seething. "Car crash? Oh that lying-" she looked at Harry. "I had expected her to not tell you about magic, but this! I will be having words with them."

Harry was alarmed at the new bit of information, but there was a pressing matter to attend to. "Please don't do that professor," he all but pleaded. "I still have to live there. I have gotten good at not making them angry, but they will if they find out I have told you this. They'd not allow me out of the cupboard in time for school!" Harry withheld saying that he might be punished with no meals like all the times he had done accidental magic before. That would only make professor angrier. And however nice it felt for someone to be angry for him, he had to live with his guardians for a month more. He could not forget that in a hurry.

"Okay. But I am sorry." McGonagall had her head down in shame, so Harry, despite himself, had to attempt consoling her. "It's okay Ma'am. They are my only living relatives. And it's not too bad there. Promise."

She looked at him dubiously. "But the cupboard…?"

Harry gave her a sheepish smile. "Please don't tell anyone, but I like it. It's my home. I have it completely to myself and no one bothers me there." He could tell McGonagall was quite bothered by his statement, but luckily she didn't press. She still kept those books inside his basket, saying "I'll take care of the light inside your… room, Mr. Potter. I hope you will come prepared to Hogwarts." Without waiting for his reaction, she paid the clerk and strode outside. Harry noticed a cool but seemingly insignificant thing: his books were floating in the air behind the Professor! Harry figured it was magic again. It was neat though.


End file.
